Most people go through life dreading a serious diagnosis and surgery. I spent my formative years begging for both.  At 30, while my peers were advancing their careers and growing their families, I couldn’t shower without vomiting from the strain it put on my body.  I couldn’t pull up my underwear or tie my shoes without my husband’s help.  I couldn’t stop fidgeting from the nerves that fired down my left leg. I couldn’t tolerate a seatbelt across my liver, a full bladder or more than an hour in